Prologue

Part 1

prologue.exe/starwoven.saga

prologue.exe

A huge forest fire starts from a tiny spark.

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Flames. Black smoke. The smell of blood.

Screams erupted everywhere. Everything was a mess.

〔The clown begins its eighth rotation.〕

“Silver!”

Beside Wolf, the black ferret shouts. The two of them hang side by side from a cliff. Beneath their feet lies nothing but endlessly plummeting darkness.

One of the black ferret’s arms hangs limply. His shoulder is dislocated. A left hand soaked in blood is the only iron spike fixing that bison like bulk to the edge of the precipice.

Another loud noise. The smoke thickens. Now even the screams begin to fade.

“Silver! Silver!”

The black ferret calls out again and again. Once more, no answer comes back. Could Silver be dead?

No. Or maybe, Silver too.

The strength in Wolf’s hands suddenly drains. If this continues, he will fall before long. He no longer feels afraid.

No matter how hard he struggles, he’s going to fall. It won’t matter if the final moment comes a little sooner.

He stoppes struggling.

He closes his eyes.

“Bingapsu! Wolf! Where are you!”

The next moment, Wolf raises his head. A voice came from beyond. It was Silver.

He’s not dead.

“Bingapsu!”

Silver’s voice draws closer. Wolf was overcome by a subtle feeling.

Why is that?

Why does that memory surface at a time like this?

It was one summer afternoon. In front of the window, wrapped in white sunlight, his mother sat in a chair doing embroidery. She wore a gray dress buttoned all the way up to her neck. It was a look that even a demanding court noblewoman would praise, yet to Wolf’s eyes it felt stale, like an old portrait shoved into a corner of an antique shop.

‘Mom, do you like the prince that much?’

Wolf suddenly spoke, resting his arm on his mother’s lap.

‘Mom. If me and the prince both fell into the water, who would you save first?’

In response to her young son’s question, the mother remained silent. From that profound silence, Wolfe extracted the answer.

‘You’d save the prince first?’

‘He’s the prince.’

Only then did she reply, sticking the needle into the embroidery frame. Wolf’s breathing grew rough. When he came to his senses, he found himself standing up, fists clenched, glaring at his mother.

‘I’m your son. But you’d save the prince first? Do you like the prince more than me?’

‘I am the prince’s subject before I am your mother. Of course, I love you more, Wolf.’

〔The clown’s eighth rotation ends.〕

Without realizing it, Wolf cried out silently.

Wolf cried out silently, without realizing it. “You’ll save me first, Silver, right?”

We’re friends. So grab my hand first.

Me first.

Silver.

A crack as thin as a thread brings down a fortress. Extreme malice sometimes arises from trivial, ordinary moments.

Mom. If me and the prince both fell into the water, who would you save first?